Children of Eve
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #33 The return of Spock's daughter, T'Beth, is marred by suspicion. It only grows worse when Spock and his family become targets of harassment.
1. Chapter 1

It was the most difficult task Spock had performed since assuming the position of Starfleet Academy's commandant. Disciplinary matters were often awkward to handle, but this case was no ordinary one. From the first, he had taken a special interest in Cadet T'Naisa Brandt—an interest that had, admittedly, deepened after the death of his daughter.

What initially drew him to T'Naisa was the obvious similarity between her parentage and his own. Spock's father was Vulcan and his mother human. In T'Naisa's case, the reverse was true. Her human father was an engineering specialist who had met and married a Vulcan scientist while working at a research outpost in deep Space. Like Spock, T'Naisa's appearance favored the dominant Vulcan genomes, right down to her pointed ears and copper based blood. Even her startling red hair was not unheard of on his home world, although it was considered quite rare. The color suited the vivacious cadet. She was, simply put, a beautiful young woman, and over the months of Spock's association with her, he had come to realize that she was a little too aware of that fact.

It would have been better if T'Naisa had received a solid grounding in Vulcan discipline. It might have helped integrate her personality and steady the conflicting emotions that seemed to cause her so much difficulty. But her formative years had been spent away from Vulcan, and her parents had raised her in the human way.

Thanks to native intelligence and fine tutoring, T'Naisa had gleaned a solid education, but Spock had reached the unfortunate conclusion that she was too unstable for life as a Starfleet officer. It would have been better if she never entered the academy. Now, as she neared the completion of her second year, Spock had been forced to convene a disciplinary hearing that resulted in her immediate expulsion. Cadet Brandt had received the news quietly, which was most unlike her. But now she was back in his office, seated before him, and Spock was uncomfortably aware of something sinister stirring in the wounded depths of her brown eyes.

"You ruled against me," she said stiffly.

"Expulsions," Spock replied, "can be ordered only by a unanimous decision."

T'Naisa studied him. "Maybe you felt you had to…but you're the commandant. You could reopen my case. You could put it up for reconsideration."

Spock steepled his fingers in his lap and said, "The decision stands…but please believe me, I take no pleasure in it."

Tears filled her eyes. "I want to believe that," she said softly. "I always thought you understood…"

"Perhaps I do," he conceded. "Perhaps too well."

She leaned forward intently. "Then tell me what I can do—how I can change your mind. Anything, Captain, just say it."

With regret Spock told her, "There is nothing more that can be done. I'm sorry, I must ask you to leave now."

For a moment T'Naisa acted as if she had not heard. Then she slowly rose from her chair. Moving around the desk, she approached him, her long red hair hanging in a typically non-regulation style. She could not even conform herself in so small a fashion.

Coming very near, she placed one hand on the arm of his chair and gazed into his eyes. "You've been so good to me, so kind. I'll do anything," she pleaded, " _anything._ Don't you understand?"

Tears splashed down her face. Disturbed by the display, Spock drew back as far as his chair permitted, but she moved even closer and her hand went to his thigh. The intensity of her emotions lapped against his mental shielding and now there was no mistaking her intention.

 _"Anything,"_ she repeated softly.

Repelled, Spock thrust her away from him and rose. "Enough!" he commanded. "This crude attempt at manipulation only confirms the unfortunate conclusion I have reached about you."

Her eyes flamed with sudden fury. "I'll appeal! I'll appeal the decision!"

"That is your privilege," Spock told her, "but if you do, I shall have to report what transpired here today." He paused, and allowed some measure of compassion to enter his voice once more. "Leave, Miss Brandt, while you still have some shred of dignity left. It is not so terrible to be dismissed from the academy. Your record will state only that you are unsuited to the life."

Her anger showed no indication of subsiding. "I thought you were a kindred spirit, but you're nothing but an arrogant prig. You think you're so damn special because you were raised on Vulcan."

"Leave here at once," Spock ordered. "Or must I call for security?"

"Alright," she declared, "I'll get out of your precious office. I'll get out of your precious academy. But you'll regret it. Mark my words, Captain—you're going to regret this until the day you die!"

Turning on her heel, she stormed out. The door hissed shut behind her.

For a moment Spock remained as he was, and then reached for the intercom and asked that he not be disturbed. There were no appointments scheduled for this final hour of the day. Leaving his desk, he walked through a false holographic wall, into the comfortable little retreat he had devised one afternoon when there was not a great deal else to occupy him. Since then he had equipped the area with sound buffers, which completed the illusion of privacy.

Going to his meditation stool, he assumed the customary Vulcan posture of recollection, and closed his eyes. The exchange with T'Naisa Brandt had left him shaken. Her bold advance made him wonder if he had stepped so far out of his role of commandant that she misinterpreted the nature of his interest in her. If so, he must never repeat the mistake.

After his mind settled, he returned to his desk and checked in with his yeoman by intercom.

"Sir, you have a visitor," Nichols reported. His youthful voice hesitated. "She…uh…doesn't want me to give out her name."

All the ground gained by Spock's meditation was in danger of slipping away. Had Brandt come back yet again? Nichols knew her by sight. Why would he not keep Spock properly informed? "Yeoman, her _name."_

Nichols answered in a strange tone, "Sir…maybe you should come out here and see for yourself."

Spock's mouth tightened in annoyance. Crossing his office, he triggered the door, preparing to confront both Nichols and former Cadet Brandt. His glance took in the apologetic-looking yeoman, and then lit on the young woman waiting in a chair. Spock drew in a sharp breath. This was clearly not Brandt. Her eyes were hazel, not brown—the hair dark in color and plaited in a Vulcan manner. Instead of a cadet's uniform, she wore shabby civilian clothing and scuffed shoes. _But this was no stranger._

Spock's mind staggered at the surge of recognition and struggled with it, actively denying the evidence of his own eyes _. It simply was not possible!_ His predecessor at the academy had suffered a mental breakdown. Was he next? In the periphery of his awareness be became conscious of his yeoman gaping at him, and withdrew back into his office.

He was still staring at the door, working through the confusion, when the door slid open and the young woman walked in, uninvited. Her face was wet with tears. Falling to her knees before him, she bowed her head.

"Father," she choked out.

Spock felt an ache gathering in his throat. "Stand up," he told her.

With downcast eyes she obeyed him.

"Look at me," he whispered.

She did.

Unbelieving, Spock searched every detail of her appearance. With utmost care he raised one hand and lightly traced a scar that ran from her temple into her hairline. _This was new._ Resonances of her emotions brushed the fringes of his mind. He swallowed hard.

"T'Beth."

"Yes, Father," she said, "it's me."

Closing his eyes, he drew her into his embrace and she wept against him.

oooo

For the third time in as many minutes, Lauren glanced at the chronometer on the living room wall. She was definitely having one of her bad feelings. Spock was a considerate husband; he always made it a point to call if he was going to be very late. There had been calls, alright—a strange, disturbing series of blank screens and broken connections. And Spock was not answering his phone. What could it mean? Something was going on, she _knew_ it. She could feel trouble stirring in the bond they shared.

Three-year-old Simon cuddled up to her on the couch and gave her a nudge. "Mommy, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," she lied.

His blue eyes reproached her. "Then read to me, Mommy."

Once more Lauren forced her attention back to the picture book on her lap. It was an antique; a gift from Jim Kirk, who wanted the boy to know what it was like to hold the real thing in his hands, and grow up loving it.

She pointed to the brilliantly colored page. "Here, read this part yourself. You can do it."

Simon frowned in concentration. "Sam…I…am…I…do…not…lick. _Like…_ green…eggs…and…ham." Completing the rhyme, he grinned up at her proudly. "Just like Daddy. He won't eat eggs and ham, neither."

"Either," Lauren absently corrected.

Simon made a face and stroked the cat purring alongside him. Suddenly he perked up, listening. Leaping off the couch, he scurried toward the front door.

"Daddy's home!" he cried out.

A second later, Lauren also heard the hum of Spock's skimmer landing, and relaxed. Simon stood waiting to ambush his father with a hug, but as the door opened, he shrank back.

"Simon, what's—" the words died in Lauren's throat. Dumbstruck, she stood up and stared at the dark-haired girl following Spock into the house. Unpleasant emotions swept over her as she recognized Spock's daughter.

"You're alive," Lauren blurted. It should have been a good thing, a marvelous thing. But the onrush of disagreeable memories left no room for happiness. It had been so peaceful when they thought she was dead…

Simon edged over to Lauren and clutched her hand. "Who's dat, Mommy?"

"Cristabeth," Lauren forced out in an unsteady voice.

"It's alright," Spock's daughter said with a gentleness completely unlike her. "You can call me T'Beth."

 _Oh,_ thought Lauren, _so now it's "T'Beth"again. For how long? Just for today? Maybe for a week or two? Then what? Then I stand here and watch you rip our family apart, all over again?_

"Perhaps," Spock said, "I should have forewarned you."

Lauren gave him a pained look. She knew how hard it had been for him, coming to terms with his grief for the troublesome girl. She could see he was having almost as much difficulty dealing with T'Beth's reappearance.

"She only now arrived," he said. "This past month she has been making her way back here on a cargo freighter."

"Back?" Lauren turned her attention to T'Beth. "Back from where?"

"Donari," T'Beth answered in that same pleasant tone. "I was there the whole time after my fighter crashed. It's a long story."

"A long…remarkable…story." Spock met Lauren's eyes, silently informing her that he had serious reservations, but asking that she give T'Beth a fair hearing, just the same.

For the sake of her husband she would give T'Beth every chance. For Spock's sake she would welcome his daughter into their home, however personally difficult.

T'Beth crouched down and held her arms out to Simon. "Come here, baby brother. I can't believe how big you've gotten. And there's Mosha! Here, kitty, kitty!"

T'Beth's calico cat approached her cautiously, staying just out of reach. Simon held tight to Lauren's hand, silently staring at the strange girl.

"Simon," Spock said, "this is your sister."

Simon shook his curly head. "Uh-uh, Daddy. She's dead. You told me."

"I was mistaken," Spock said. "As you can see, she is quite alive. Come say 'hello' to her."

Lauren felt relieved when the boy refused to budge.

oooo

Dinner was an uneasy affair. Lauren had no appetite and she noticed that Spock also ate very little. Simon spent the entire time ogling T'Beth, as if trying to convince himself that she was not just pretending to be alive. T'Beth ate as if she had not had a decent meal in some time. Between hearty mouthfuls, she told bits and pieces of an incredible story.

The more Lauren heard, the more skeptical she became. "So you were in some underground world on Donari, with your legs crushed and burned. And…and these Donari warriors prayed over you, and a miracle happened…"

Spock remarked in a neutral tone, "Although it is not widely known, there is documentation of a rebel peace movement based in remote caves on Donari."

"Miracle workers," Lauren said, trying to keep the doubt from her voice, and failing.

"It's God who performs miracles." T'Beth smiled sadly. "I don't blame either of you for not believing me. That's what comes of lying. That's what comes of treating you all the way I did—even poor little Simon." She gave her brother a seemingly fond look. "Sometimes, when no one was watching, I used to tease him until he cried."

Lauren flashed Spock a worried glance.

T'Beth rose from the table and came over to Lauren. Rolling up her worn pant leg, she displayed an odd pattern of scarring on her skin. "See? This is all that was left after the healing."

It did not look convincing to Lauren's medical eye. "Wait a minute," she said, and left the room to get her medscanner. When she came back, she examined T'Beth's legs thoroughly and the results startled her. "There's evidence of massive recalcification in both the upper and lower leg bones. The tissue also shows signs of recent healing."

T'Beth's eyes shone. " _Instantaneous_ healing. _Miraculous_ healing."

Lauren found herself wanting to believe her. Unlike Spock, she had some religious faith. A prayerful person might hope for a miracle, but why would someone like T'Beth be healed? It made no sense.

Spock slowly shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "The explanation is probably quite simple. T'Beth, you are part Vulcan. Physical trauma may have sent you into a healing trance. On awakening, you would have lost all sense of time passing."

"Of course!" Lauren said.

Tears glistened in T'Beth's eyes. Pulling down her pant legs, she sighed. "It wasn't like that. I was there—I was fully awake. It's not something either of you can explain away with science." Her sad gaze passed between them. "Thanks for the dinner. I was going to ask if I could stay here for now, but I…I won't even consider it unless you both agree. Please, go ahead and talk it over. I'm going for a walk."

The front door shut. Lauren and Spock silently looked at one another across the table. She told him, "I don't want Simon hearing what I have to say."

"Nor I," Spock agreed.

After settling their son into bed for the night, they went down the hall to Spock's study.

Lauren closed the door. "Spock, I'm sorry, but I just don't know what to think. Our T'Beth—the recipient of a miracle? She's definitely changed, but I'm having a hard time accepting any of it."

Spock nodded gravely. "I understand your concern and I certainly share it. You know where I stand in regard to religion…and so-called 'miracles'. Obviously her story is untrue, however…" It took a moment for him to continue. "However, she might not be aware that it is untrue."

"What?"

He drew in a slow breath. "Lauren, do you recall the Gamman children we took aboard the Enterprise when I was commanding?"

She could hardly forget the bizarre events that had followed the children's awakening, and later standing by helplessly watching them die, one by one. The children were victims of mind-altering experiments conducted by the Donaris. Shocked by her husband's implication, she said, "You think they've done something to T'Beth's mind?"

Spock's eyes were bleak. "I keep asking myself these questions: Why did she fail to follow proper military procedures and return to her base on Sydok for debriefing? Why did she come here instead—to the home of Starfleet Headquarters? What if she has been programmed by her captors for some destructive purpose?"

Lauren felt a chill of fear. "Was T'Beth with you around 6:45 this evening?"

"No. As we were leaving the academy, a cadet asked to speak with me. T'Beth went ahead to the skimmer and waited there. Why do you ask?"

"Because I had a series of phone calls from a public booth at the academy. There was no image, and the person wouldn't speak. They just kept hanging up. There was something very disturbing about the whole thing."

Spock's eyebrow rose. When at last he spoke, his voice was heavy with the weight of his decision. "After she returns from her walk, I will leave the living room briefly and call Starbase Security. An escort will take her to the medical center."

"An escort." Lauren knew full well what he meant. T'Beth would be leaving the house under guard.

oooo

T'Beth sat on a bed in the top security section of Starfleet Medical Center. All night long she had been picked over and questioned by an exhausting series of medical experts and military brass. Throughout the ordeal she had steadily prayed for the strength to forgive her father. The sense of betrayal was still painfully strong when the door to her room opened and Spock himself entered.

Keeping his distance, he gazed at her with those dark, inscrutable eyes that had made her squirm guiltily as a child. Only this time there was no guilt in her.

"How are you?" he spoke at last.

 _How was she?_ What kind of thing was that to say, after what he had done to her? But of course he had some logical reason for not telling her of his concerns, but having her carted off from his home like a criminal.

"If you didn't want me in your house," she told him, "you only had to say so. Why have me arrested?"

"You are not under arrest," he corrected. "You are under medical observation."

She was not going to argue that point with him. The doors were locked and guarded. She was far from free. "I know what you're thinking," she said, "but the Donaris didn't do anything to my mind."

"Are you so sure of that?"

"Yes I am," she said with all the patience she could summon. "Everything I told you is the truth."

He just looked at her.

"You don't trust me," she said.

"I don't trust the _Donaris_ ," he responded. "You probably know their history as well as I, but I have seen firsthand what little value they place on the lives of other species. And I have told you how I negotiated a prisoner exchange to gain your release. Their scanning devices are quite sophisticated enough to reveal that the young woman using your name had no Vulcan ancestry. That is why they refused to release any firm identification. The Donaris use trickery and deceit."

T'Beth's throat tightened at the mention of her friend. "Oh Father, you probably saved Lelia's life and my co-pilot, too. You don't regret that, do you?'

"Of course not. I am merely stating that the Donaris are not trustworthy." He was silent for a moment, and then he asked, "Why did you not return at once to your unit on Sydok?"

Sighing, she lay back and put her hands under her head. How many people had asked her that very question since her arrival here? "I wanted to see you first. It seemed more important than anything else."

His expression did not change. "You are a lieutenant in the Border Patrol. It was your duty upon escaping to make your way directly to a military installation for debriefing."

T'Beth could not quite swallow all of the hurt and the anger. "Then I guess that makes me a pretty lousy officer. I'm sorry. You must be very disappointed in me." Fighting tears, she turned her face aside.

After a moment he came over to the bed and stood beside her. With surprising gentleness he said, "I am not so much disappointed, as concerned. There are important reasons for Starfleet procedures, reasons that involve your own safety as much as the safety of others."

The heaviness in her heart eased a little and she found the courage to look up at him. "I know. But believe me, there's nothing to worry about. I haven't put anyone at risk." A sudden inspiration struck, and she rose to feet. Taking hold of his hand, she interlaced their fingers. She was telepathic enough to sense how uncomfortable her touch made him, but she did not let go. Searching his eyes, she said, "Father, you can know what I know. You can see for yourself—in my mind."

Spock disengaged his hand and backed away. "You know that I cannot."

"Why? Because you're my father? Because it's a Vulcan taboo?"

Shaking his head, he explained, "It is not only the fact that you are a female child. You could have been altered in some way by the Donaris without being aware of it."

"Not _my_ Donaris," she insisted. "They didn't do anything to my mind. They didn't even have the proper medicine and facilities to treat my legs. I was dying, Father—but their prayers saved me. Why can't you accept that?"

oooo

By now Spock was almost coming to expect it—the blank screen staring at him from his desk, the sinister silence, the abrupt breaking of the phone connection. Whoever was harassing him used the direct line to his academy office and knew when he was most likely to be there. The calls were unsettling, and his suspicions even more so. As he sat before the screen, an image of the unseen caller sprang, unbidden, to his mind's eye. Tall, slender, dark-haired—consumed by a pathological rage that perhaps she could not admit even to herself.

T'Beth was back under his roof, released from the hospital with a so-called "clean bill of health", but Spock did not entirely trust the official pronouncement. It bothered him that she had not been given a date to report back to the Border Patrol. The omission would seem to suggest that they had not yet decided what to do with her. It would seem to suggest that, like Cadet Brandt, she was considered too mentally unstable to be of any further use. Earlier in the week he had attempted to access T'Beth's military file, only to find it locked behind a "need to know" marker one level above his own security clearance. Strange, indeed.

The sun was still shining when Spock left his office for the day. As he headed for the parking area, a sudden rustling in a landscape barrier diverted his attention. The branches of a bush swayed. Somewhere beyond it, he detected a flash of movement, the sound of running.

He sprinted over to the spot. The only people in sight wore uniforms and did not seem at all suspicious, but he found two indistinct prints in the planter soil. They were of a size that could easily belong to a tall woman. Somehow, that did not surprise him. The joy he had experienced when he first embraced his daughter had been dirtied by misgivings.

All the way home he reviewed the growing body of circumstantial evidence against T'Beth . As he lowered his skimmer onto the pad, he was relieved to see Lauren and Simon safe on the front porch. Simon had recently entered the Suzuki program for violin. Now the boy carefully set down the little instrument provided by their gardener and rushed excitedly to the fence.

"Daddy, I learned a song!" he cried out. "T'Beth helped me! You gotta listen!"

Spock passed through the gate. Lifting his son into his arms stirred a deeply protective feeling. "Of course," he told Simon, "I want to hear it." His eyes met those of his wife. "It happened again. Is T'Beth here?"

Lauren looked frightened. "No, she's been gone for hours. I had calls here, too."

oooo

T'Beth failed to show up for dinner. Afterward, Spock felt the need to be alone with his thoughts and retreated to his study. There Simon found him, sitting at his desk holding the old teddy bear he had bought as a Christmas gift for his daughter when she was fourteen. It was the only thing he had ever given to the girl that she truly enjoyed. He remembered well the look of happiness on her face as she opened the gift box—and the pain he felt on her eighteenth birthday when he found the discarded toy stuffed in the closet of his ransacked room.

Simon approached him, eyeing the worn bear with all the avarice of early childhood. "Daddy, where'd you get dat? Is it for me?"

Spock looked upon his handsome son and thought of T'Beth and all the years of her early childhood that he had missed. "No, Simon. It belongs to your sister."

Spock heard the front door close downstairs and something inside him tensed. Simon's face lit up. Reaching over to pat the bear, he said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Do you s'pose she'll let me have it—if I ask?"

Spock's first impulse was to forbid such a query. Bringing out the toy would only stir unpleasant feelings that still lingered between him and his daughter. And just now he would rather not encourage Simon's fondness for T'Beth. He did not understand how Simon had quickly become so comfortable around her. The boy was barely three; his mental shielding was not well developed. Each time T'Beth touched him, Spock expected his son to react negatively, as he had when he was an infant. Instead, Simon actually seemed to enjoy having his sister near him. Either T'Beth no longer harbored any ill will toward her little brother, or she had repressed those emotions to such a degree that she was no longer consciously aware of them.

Looking into Simon's eyes, Spock wondered. "Very well," he said at last, "take the bear to her and ask nicely."

Simon snatched it from his hands and sped off. Spock followed him down into the living room. He watched T'Beth give away the toy with apparent graciousness and was ready when she turned from the boy and met his gaze. Her remorseful expression was quite convincing. Perhaps she had a future as an actress.

Before she could bring up the past, he told her, "You were expected here for dinner."

"I know," she said quietly. "Sorry, Father. I didn't mean to inconvenience anyone. I…I just lost track."

"Next time, call," he said and added pointedly, "I am sure you do know how to use the phone in an appropriate manner."

She looked guilty and ashamed.

"You spend a great deal of time away from the house," he observed. "Where do you go? What do you do?"

T'Beth blushed and stared at the floor. "There's a…a Buddhist temple," she stammered, "across from Golden Gate Park on Fell Street. It's so peaceful inside, like the grotto beneath Donari. Sometimes I…I go there to meditate…and pray. Sometimes, though, I just go for a walk in the park."

At least she had the grace to look embarrassed over her lies. Spock hoped the emotional discomfort would put an end to her childish campaign of harassment. "I am sure," he said, "that you could benefit from some time spent in meditation."

oooo

T'Beth sat cross-legged on the floor of her bedroom. Using a method taught to her by her Donari companion, she opened her anguished soul to the healing Light of the Divine Presence. She waited in stillness, ready to accept whatever might be revealed. But tonight there was no relief from the bitter turmoil. Her heart ached. Her mind kept wandering. Her body fell prey to intemperate urges, enticing her to roam the night and seek out the sense of intimacy that eluded her in her father's home.

She felt so lonely here, where everyone but Simon treated her with coolness and suspicion. Only yesterday she had offered to take care of her brother while Lauren put in her mornings in the research department at Starfleet Medical Center. But no, they had insisted on keeping Mrs. Sakata, the gardener's wife. "Auntie", as Simon called her affectionately. The woman watched over him—and eyed T'Beth—like a wrinkled old hawk, as if someone had warned her that T'Beth was dangerous.

Why couldn't they see that she had changed? Why couldn't they see how much she loved her baby brother?

Collecting her thoughts yet again, she reminded herself, _Everything happens for a reason. Even this. My life is being guided by a Higher Power. All is as it should be…_

oooo

Lauren lay in bed beside her husband. Their whispered conversation had trailed off into the silence of night, but she knew Spock was still awake. Thinking, like her. Struggling with the pall of uneasiness that had come into their home with T'Beth's return.

Suddenly he spoke, his voice tinged with regret. "It is many years since I have been able to reach her. An impenetrable wall has risen between us."

Lauren wondered if it was not best just to leave T'Beth behind her wall of lies. Who knew what the girl was hiding? Aloud she said, "Spock, she knows you suspect her now. She'll have enough sense to stop bothering us—won't she?"

She wanted him to reassure her. She needed to draw on his Vulcan strength. She needed to hear him say that there was nothing to worry about, that one way or another he would handle the trouble with his daughter. When he failed to reply, she rose up on her elbow and looked at him. His eyes met hers, black in the shadows of the bedroom. His hand went to her hair.

"Come closer," he said, and Lauren curled contentedly against him. When she was safe in his arms, all her worries seemed less significant. With a sigh she let herself relax and gradually drifted to sleep.

oooo

Long after Lauren had nodded off, Spock got out of bed and quietly slipped into his clothes. It was early in the morning when the door of his study opened and T'Beth peeked in.

"I…saw the light under your door," she said with hesitation. "Can we talk?"

Turning from his work, Spock gave her his full attention.

She came inside. "Father, there's something I've been wanting to say to you. Something personal."

With T'Beth, such an announcement could mean anything. Spock prepared himself for the worst.

She remained near the closed door, nervously clenching her hands together. "It's about the fal-tor-pan ceremony on Vulcan, when T'Lar reunited your katra with your body. That was a genuine rebirth. I mean there you were, given a second chance at life. It must have made a very deep impression on you." She paused for a breath, and the words rushed out. "I'd like to know—how did you feel afterward?"

The question was totally unexpected. Spock did not like thinking back to that period following the ceremony at Mount Seleya. "The major impression I recall is one of confusion. You were there."

"Yes. At first you didn't remember me."

"My clarity of mind only returned gradually, with much study and effort. Why do you ask?"

She moved closer, her face showing the strain of some inner conflict. "I was hoping…that maybe it's something we have in common. Maybe it would help you understand what I'm going through."

"I see."

Pulling up a chair, she sat down near him. "I didn't deserve to be healed," she said softly, "yet my life was spared, the use of my legs returned to me. Things like that don't happen without a reason, and if the reason isn't in my past, then it has to be somewhere in my future." She bent forward, her eyes intent. "Father, I feel called. I feel _chosen_. I feel like I have a mission to perform, only I don't know what it is."

Spock leaned back in his chair, uneasy. It was not the first time he had heard such words spoken, with the same fanatical intensity. As a boy, he had heard them from his half-brother Sybok. Only a few short years ago he had heard them again, when Sybok's religious delusions lured him to his death. He saw now that he should have told T'Beth about her uncle when she first heard his name and became curious. Now he wondered if it was too late for her to listen.

Rising, he went to the French doors that opened onto the balcony, and drew aside one of the curtains. The stars shone brightly tonight. In his mind's eye he envisioned the flight of the Enterprise as it took them beyond the Great Barrier, to Sybok's Sha Ka Ree.

"You think I'm crazy," she said, "don't you?"

"I think," he said with his back to her, "that there is something you need to know…about my brother."

Clear across the room, he sensed T'Beth's astonishment and turned toward her. "Yes. I also had a half-brother. His name was Sybok."

It was nearly dawn when he finished the tale. Wasted effort, he realized. Judging by the look on T'Beth's face, he had only managed to incur her anger.

"This is different," she said heatedly. "Father, listen to me. I'm not insane, I'm not obsessed, and I'm not under some weird alien control." She stopped and visibly struggled to compose herself before starting over in a calmer tone. "I'm sorry, Father…it's just that…I guess I expected more from you. I would have thought, with your knowledge of Vulcan mysticism…"

There was quiet. Then Spock told her, "The form of so-called 'Vulcan mysticism' I practice is not aimed at communication with an imaginary deity. I have tried to teach you my form of meditation. Its purpose is to eradicate emotion and expand the mind. Nothing more."

T'Beth stared at him in dismay. "I should have realized. You've never once mentioned God to me. Oh, Father…" She lowered her head into her hands. Her thick, dark braid fell forward over her shoulder. As if to herself, she said, "You'll never understand. Never…" He watched her draw in a slow breath, and then abruptly she stood. "I'll leave you alone now. That's what you want, isn't it?"

Spock found that he could summon little sympathy for her. "Yes, T'Beth, that is precisely what I want. Either leave me and my family in peace, or go elsewhere."

" _Your_ family" Tears flooded her eyes. She went to the door and paused. "Are you saying you want me to move out?"

"I hope it will not come to that."

She swallowed hard and seemed to transform into the T'Beth of old. With a defiant lift of her chin, she said, "There's something else. I couldn't help but notice that my Golheni dagger wasn't in with the other things the Patrol sent. Do you know where it is?"

Here was yet another sore point between them. "Yes," Spock said. "I do."

Her eyes narrowed. "That dagger is rightfully mine."

Spock felt his patience slipping. T'Beth's manner suggested that he had meant to appropriate the valuable artifact for himself—in essence, steal it—rather than just keep it safely out of young Simon's reach.

"I would like it now," she said stiffly.

The sense of insult deepened. Spock considered well before unlocking his desk drawer. His eyes met hers as he stood and put the sheathed assassin's dagger into her outstretched hand.

"I trust," he said levelly, "that you will keep this where your brother cannot find it." As if there were any kind of trust left between them—as if there ever had been.

She gave a cool nod.

After she left, Spock went into Simon's room and gently picked up his sleeping son. When he settled him into bed beside Lauren, his wife stirred.

"What's going on?" she mumbled.

Spock told her what had happened, and they argued in whispers while Simon slept on. Lauren's indignation about the knife did not surprise him. Over the years he had become so skilled at bending the truth that she sometimes forgot he could not lie outright like a human. There were times when he almost wished he could.

"Okay," Lauren conceded, "so you had to tell her the dagger was here. But why did you hand it over to her?"

The answers that occurred to Spock did not satisfy even him. _A point of pride? An unwillingness to trigger_ _one of T'Beth's epic tantrums?_ "What is done, is done. Until the situation with T'Beth is resolved, Simon will sleep here with us."


	2. Chapter 2

A sudden, explosive sound shattered Lauren's peaceful Saturday morning. Heart pounding, she rushed out of her laboratory. Simon stood in the living room near a broken window. As she stared, he bent down and reached for a rock lying amid the razor-sharp pieces of glass.

"No, Simon!" she called on the run, and snatched him into her arms. He began to cry.

There was a piece of paper tied crudely to the rock with twine. Freeing it with one hand, she smoothed it open and read a single chilling word: "DIE".

Yesterday they had found the same word on their front door, scrawled in bright green paint overnight. And now this, in broad daylight. It would take inhuman strength to break the type of glass in their windows. T'Beth had not stopped harassing them. She had never stopped for a single minute. Now the daily plague of annoyances was escalating into vandalism and threats.

Lauren trembled with outrage. How much of this was she expected to endure? She knew who was doing it. Spock knew who was responsible. When was he going to act? Was he waiting for someone to get hurt? All the fear and frustration of the past month boiled up, and she shouted Spock's name.

She turned and found him already at the foot of the stairs, his dark eyes taking in all the implications of the scene. Still clutching their crying son, she approached Spock with more anger than she had felt toward him since their reconciliation.

Holding the threat note in her outstretched hand, she said, "This is it! I want her out! I want her out of here today—do you hear me?"

Stone-faced, he took the paper and read it. Then lifting Simon from her arms, he spoke gently to the sobbing boy and sent him upstairs to quiet down. Once Simon was out of sight, he turned to Lauren with infuriating calm and said, "Please try to control your emotions when you are touching him."

"How _dare_ you correct me!" she said hotly. She jabbed her finger in the direction of the shattered plate glass. " _She's_ the one who needs correcting! Look at that! Just look at that, will you? Simon was standing there, not a foot from where the rock fell. That girl is unbalanced. She's dangerous. I want her out of here before she slits our throats—and if you can't bring yourself to do it, I will!"

When Spock saw that she was finished, he simply turned and went upstairs.

Still fuming, Lauren cleaned up the glass shards and taped some plastic sheeting over the hole in the window. She did not understand how Spock could wander off without saying a word, as if washing his hands of the whole situation. T'Beth was his daughter. He should be the one to deal with this mess—and with her.

After checking on Simon, she went looking for Spock, fully expecting that he had retreated into his work. But he was not in his study, nor in their bedroom. Opening T'Beth's door, she found him packing her belongings into a pair of his own travel bags. The worst of her anger began to slip away. He had grieved deeply when they thought T'Beth was dead. Now he was about to lose her again—and Lauren's uncontrolled behavior was making it doubly hard on him.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper," she said.

He continued packing without looking at her. "You have a right to be upset. I have not handled the situation very well."

"You're sending her off, then?"

He nodded. "There is no alternative."

So it was finally said, but with Lauren's sense of relief came an unexpected burden of guilt. "Maybe we shouldn't. Spock, she's turned all her rage inward. She's sick, she needs help."

"She will not accept it from me."

"But what if she agrees to see a psychiatrist?"

He tossed a pair of socks into the open valise. "We have already discussed this. She has had years of analysis. You know how she resisted it."

"But Spock," she said.

"No." His eyes found her, fierce with resolve. "This has gone on quite long enough."

In the midst of Lauren's heartache, a phrase from her childhood slipped out softly. "…Poor banished children."

Spock stopped what he was doing and gave her a questioning look.

Rousing herself, she said, "It's from an old Catholic prayer to the Blessed Virgin. 'To thee do we cry, poor banished children of Eve…to thee do we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping in this vale of tears'." She sighed. "T'Beth was in our bedroom one day and asked about the little statue of Mary on my dresser. She showed an interest in Marianology and the healings at Lourdes."

"Well, her religious beliefs have not done her much good, have they?" Spock said with a cynicism that dismayed her. He snapped the valise closed.

Ouch. Spock seldom disparaged religion in front of her, but she had left herself wide open for that one.

oooo

Something was very wrong. T'Beth knew it the moment she saw the shattered window and the terrible, torn look in her stepmother's eyes.

"What's happened?" T'Beth asked her.

Instead of answering the question, Lauren said, "Your father's waiting for you. Upstairs, in your room."

 _In her room?_ T'Beth's stomach tightened as she slowly ascended the steps. Though she was well into her twentieth year, she had the nauseous feeling that she was a naughty child on her way up to get punished. She found Spock sitting on her bed, a pair of traveling bags at his feet. As usual his face was carefully composed, but the look in his eyes did not bode well.

Rising, he said, "Your belongings are packed. Take them and leave."

T'Beth's mouth dropped open. Her heart hammered with the impact of a dozen conflicting emotions. " _What?_ But why? Why are you doing this?"

"I believe you already know the answer."

Like a schoolgirl caught unprepared for an exam, she searched her mind frantically for what she was expected to know. "Because I wanted the dagger back? Father, I know I wasn't very tactful. I should have apologized before now."

He shook his head with something very much like disgust.

She tried again. "It's because of the downstairs window, isn't it? You think I broke it. Well, I didn't—but I'll pay for the repairs anyway."

His eyes hardened. "There is nothing to be gained by this."

"Not the window? Then what? I haven't done anything. I was at the temple all day."

Somehow T'Beth knew what was coming even before he said it.

"You are lying," he accused.

Tears welled up and ran unchecked down her face.

"So you think you want to kill me," he continued. "How did you intend to do it? With your assassin's dagger?"

His face was a blur. Her throat ached so that she could barely force out the words. "What do you _mean?_ What are you _talking_ about? Father, I swear to God—"

He quickly walked from the room, leaving her in utter confusion. A sob stabbed at her chest. Sinking to the floor, she rested her head on her father's valise and wept for a long time.

oooo

It had been a trying weekend, and on Monday morning Spock resumed his duties at Starfleet Academy only to find that his thoughts kept drifting back to the rending scene of T'Beth's departure. Though he did not believe she was innocent, the memory of her tears tugged at him. She had taken more than an hour to come downstairs, her eyes irritated from crying, a travel bag clutched in each hand. Though he had carefully prepared himself, her parting words lanced their way deeply into his heart.

"Father," she had said in a shaky voice, "I don't know why you're sending me away, but I guess you must have your reasons. You always do. But I want you to know something. _This_ time you're wrong. This time you're making a terrible mistake."

She had paused to look at the painting by Chagall that hung on the living room wall—the banishment of Adam and Eve from paradise. Then, like an embodiment of Chagall's avenging angel, Spock had stood by while the fallen daughter of Eve walked out of his house and out of his life.

The day passed slowly. In late afternoon Spock returned from a faculty meeting and dismissed his yeoman a bit early. He was organizing his desk for morning when the office door slid open. He glanced up, expecting that Yeoman Nickols had returned, as sometimes happened, to inform him of some forgotten piece of business.

What he saw brought him to his feet, all senses alert.

Former Cadet Brandt stepped fully into his office, letting the door hiss shut. She wore dark civilian clothes and her eyes held a deadly intent. Her right hand gripped a dangerous looking antique weapon, the barrel of which was aimed squarely at Spock's heart.

"Put up your hands," she said.

Spock lifted them into plain sight.

"Higher," she insisted.

He raised his hands above the level of his shoulders.

She said, "Now listen carefully and don't try anything. If you're wearing a wrist phone, take it off slowly. Put it on the desk and move away from it."

Doing as she commanded, he said, "What can you possibly hope to accomplish by this?"

She jutted her finely chiseled jaw. One reddish, delicately arched eyebrow rose as she beheld him. "Your utter humiliation. The pleasure of watching you die a slow, exquisitely painful death."

Only now did the full scope of his error occur to Spock. Stunned, he said, "It was you! The phone calls, the vandalism, the threats."

T'Naisa's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Did you really think it was someone else, Commandant?"

Spock kept the bitter answer to himself. He had done his daughter a grievous injustice and now he might never live to repair the damage—if, in fact, it could ever be repaired. He asked, "Will you permit me to leave a final message for my family?"

She laughed. "I'm afraid they don't have any need for messages. You see, I've already been over to your lovely house. They're dead now. That pretty blonde wife of yours—she was some sort of doctor, wasn't she? And your little boy—such a cute thing. It didn't take much time at all for him to bleed out. He didn't cry for long."

The breath went out of Spock in a slow shudder of grief…and anger. He closed his eyes. Some autonomic reflex groped along the marital bond he shared with Lauren. It _seemed_ intact. He found himself grasping at the pale hope that perhaps she, at least, was still clinging to life.

"Wake up!" T'Naisa snapped. "Remember the day I discovered that fake room of yours? Stuck my arm right through it. Well, we're going inside."

She was clever. While keeping well out of reach, she made Spock use his remote to disengage the field so she could keep him in sight as they entered.

"Now sit," T'Naisa ordered, indicating the farthest corner.

Spock lowered himself to the floor and T'Naisa sank onto his meditation stool, her handgun pointed.

"Now," she said, "slide the remote over here."

Spock watched her reengage the holo-wall and activate the sound dampers. No one would hear the gun firing. His chances of survival were increasingly slim.

Brandishing her pistol, she asked, "Have you ever seen one of these?"

He nodded. "I have seen weapons like it."

"This is a 9 millimeter Ruger, the weapon of choice for police forces in the late twentieth century. It's loaded with hollow points. Do you know what one of these bullets can do to flesh and bone?"

Spock's mind conjured an image of Simon, his small body torn and bleeding. For the sake of his sanity, he pulled back from it.

"Answer me!" T'Naisa demanded.

"Yes," he said numbly, "I know what it can do."

Taking hold of the pistol with both hands, she aimed it at his right knee. Spock resisted an urge to move out of the line of fire.

"I want you to bleed," she said. "Always so goddam superior. I even offered to go to bed with you, but no—you're so damn much _better_ than me—you with your Vulcan upbringing. I bet you think you're just about perfect, don't you?"

"No," Spock said, regaining some clarity of mind, "I am not perfect. If I were, I would not have been blinded by my own false assumptions. I would have conducted an investigation and found that you were the one harassing me and my family." _My family._ The words brought with them a fresh paroxysm of grief. _Simon…my son. And Lauren…_ Once more he searched along the bond for his wife. Still there, clinging to him, clinging to what remained of her life…

T'Naisa's young face twitched with emotion. Her finger tightened on the gun's trigger. "You wouldn't have me, would you? I wasn't good enough for your stinking academy. I wasn't even good enough for a quick romp. Well, it looks like you're paying attention to me now, aren't you, Mister Commandant? It's just you…and me…and this sweet little pistol of mine. So you may as well sit back and relax, because the three of us are going to be getting real friendly."

oooo

T'Beth had fallen asleep on the temple floor when someone tapped her hard on the shoulder. Lifting her head from a pad, she glanced around, drowsily rubbing at the sore spot left by the insistent fingers.

Off in the distance she heard the soft, pleasant chiming of a brass bell. Incense curled through the light slanting from the tall windows at her back. She seemed to be alone.

 _Odd_.

As the sleep left her, memories of the past weekend pressed in like a gray San Francisco fog. Although the monks had welcomed her, T'Beth's heart hungered for home, for reconciliation. _Why had Father thrown her out? What had she done? Why had he accused_ _her of wanting to kill him?_ Closing her eyes, she searched her heart yet again for an answer.

There was none. Only questions and more questions, and a need to see her father that was like an ache. She found herself wondering where he would be this time of day. If she hurried, she might catch him before he left the academy. Maybe there, away from home, he would be more inclined to explain. Maybe, just maybe, she could make him see that she loved him and would never do anything to harm him and his family.

There it was again. _His_ family. Would there ever be a day when he welcomed her back into that family of his?

 _Go to him!_ Once more the urge came, like a voice, shouting. Should she trust it? What if her father was right? Maybe she _was_ only wasting her time with delusions.

 _Delusions?_ Her attention shifted to her strong, healthy legs. _They_ were real enough. Rising, she left the temple and took off down Fell Street at a dead run.

oooo

Spock sat looking down the barrel of the nine-millimeter Ruger. He had come close to receiving one of its bullets when he refused T'Naisa's demand to remove his clothing. The shot had only grazed the calf of his right leg—a deliberate miss. His ears still rang from the thunderous blast of the gunpowder. Blood soaked the area around the small, stinging wound.

"How does it feel?" she asked, eyes glittering with childishly sadistic pleasure. Once more she aimed the weapon at his knee. "The next one hits dead center."

Spock studied the halfling's determined face. She had murdered his young son and his wife lay dying. He would not have thought that T'Naisa's threats could hold any power over him now, yet even as he looked at her, he could feel his natural instinct for self-preservation asserting itself. And there was also Lauren to consider. What if she still had a chance to survive? He could only help her by first saving his own life—and quickly.

He began unfastening the clasps on his uniform jacket. As T'Naisa smiled in satisfaction, he rapidly considered his options. Since T'Naisa was part Vulcan, it was useless to try and influence her by mental projection. The technique was difficult to implement and sometimes ineffective even when used on full-blooded humans. No, he must either talk her out of killing him or physically overpower her. And in order to overpower her, he must get closer.

On occasion, Spock had seen Captain Kirk use his sexuality to gain control of a dangerous situation. Once, aboard a Romulan vessel, Spock had successfully used the ploy himself, though he found it distasteful. Might such a method prove effective here?

First, he would explore another possibility.

Finishing with the last clasp, he paused. "T'Naisa. May I call you by that name?"

Her eyes narrowed. "It's not like you to be so informal."

He nodded. "Sometimes the occasion demands a certain informality—or, as you so aptly put it, a certain… _friendliness."_

"Friendliness."

Spock's hands dropped away from his jacket. "You are angered by my refusal to review your expulsion from the academy. I find now that I am reconsidering my stance."

"What?"

He raised a brow. "Yes, I am reconsidering. My position as Commandant affords me certain privileges…"

T'Naisa gripped the gun with both hands, but she was listening.

His heart pounding, Spock gazed at her steadily. "First of all, you should know that it is not too late to have your case re-examined and—"

"Who the hell are you kidding!" she cut in sharply. "I just killed your family, remember?"

Spock worked to keep his emotions in check. "T'Naisa," he said carefully, "do you believe that a Vulcan must tell the truth?"

"You're only half Vulcan—like me."

"No," Spock said, "I am not like you. Certain disciplines have been instilled in me from earliest childhood. One of them is devotion to complete, uncompromising honesty."

Suspicion crossed her face, but she lowered the gun a bit. "What are you getting at?"

"I am saying that I may be Vulcan, but I am not a fool. Even if my family is dead, there is no reason to needlessly sacrifice my own life when we can easily work out a satisfactory arrangement between us. After all, it is only logical."

Her mouth fell open and she stared at him for a long moment. "Let me get this straight. I murdered your wife and kid, yet in order to save you own skin, you're willing to keep quiet about it and get me back in the academy? What kind of cold-blooded logic is that?"

Avoiding comment on the accuracy of her statement, he merely said, "Surely we can reach an agreement."

She raised the gun to his head. "You calculating son of a bitch. I'm going to enjoy watching you bleed."

oooo

T'Beth exited the transit tube at the academy station, submitted to a quick retina scan, and sprinted onto the grounds. Her father's skimmer was still in the parking lot. She was not too late.

Entering the administration building, she slowed to a brisk walk, and then slowed yet again. _What was she doing? This would never_ _work. He was going to throw her out on her ear and revoke her clearance_. But she had come this far and another, more authoritative, voice kept urging her on.

Pulse racing, she entered Spock's outer office. No one was there. Before she could lose her nerve, she barged straight through his door. A quick glance revealed that the office was empty. Her eyes settled on his holographic wall. It was the old-fashioned kind, nothing more than an illusion. The day she first arrived, he had taken her behind it so they could speak in complete privacy. Now she considered the possibility that he was inside conferencing with someone else—or perhaps meditating. In either case, he was not likely to appreciate an interruption. But what difference would that make? He was already angry with her.

Steeling herself for rejection, T'Beth stepped through the wall.

oooo

Spock stood before T'Naisa Brandt, barefoot and naked to the waist.

"Go on…" She waved the gun. "I'm enjoying this."

"There is," Spock said, reaching down to unfasten his pants, "a form of _mutual_ enjoyment that you might consider. You are quite beautiful…and as I recall, you yourself once suggested—"

Astonished, he broke off. T'Beth was coming through the wall near T'Naisa's elbow. In the instant it took him to react, he saw shades of shock register on his daughter's face, he saw T'Naisa's gun hand begin to turn toward her. And then, a confusing blur of motion.

The gun discharged.

Spock launched himself at T'Naisa. As his left hand knocked the pistol from her grip, the fingers of his right hand expertly squeezed the nerves at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. She collapsed into his arms and he eased her to the floor. Only then did he notice the jade handle of a dagger protruding from the halfling's abdomen. Shocked, he glanced from the bleeding wound up into T'Beth's eyes.

"Are you injured?" he managed to ask her.

"No," she answered, breathing hard. "And you?"

"I am alright." Retrieving the remote, he switched off the holographic wall. Then he hurried to his desk phone and placed two calls for emergency services.

T'Beth stood watching. "Something's happened at home?"

"Stay here," he said, yanking on his boots. Grabbing the rest of his clothes, he left her to wonder. Moments later he was lifting off in his skimmer. Leaving the legal lane, he traveled fast and low using the most direct route. He tried not to envision what he might find when he arrived. The bond told him Lauren was still alive. Surely he could trust that.

The house came into sight. In his hurry, he jolted the skimmer down much too hard, damaging a skid and painfully awakening him to the fact that he had failed to harness up. Shaken, he picked himself off the dash. Wiping at the blood on his face, he rushed into the house, his uniform jacket flapping open against his bare chest.

The house was as still as death.

"Lauren!" he called, his heart thudding. "Simon!"

No one answered.

With a sick feeling he began a rapid, systematic search of the ground floor. He was about to move upstairs when he heard a child's laughter. He stopped in his tracks and listened. It came again.

He was heading for the back door when it flew open and Simon charged in, his blue eyes sparkling with joy. Lauren was right behind him. Catching sight of Spock, they froze.

Lauren's face drained of color as she took in his bloody, disheveled appearance. "I knew it! I knew something was going on! Spock, what's happened? And though she did not say it, he read the thought in her eyes. _What has that girl done now?_

Looking frightened, Simon came up and touched the area on Spock's pants torn and bloodied by the bullet. "Ouch," he said.

Spock picked up his son and hugged him, reveling in the simple pleasure of his nearness. "It is nothing," he reassured the boy. "I only brought the skimmer down too hard."

Simon stared at him in disbelief. "You crashed it?"

Explanations would have to wait. All three turned as the ringing sound of a transporter beam materialized an emergency crew on their front porch. The door was open. The medical technicians took one look at Spock and descended on him.

oooo

T'Beth sat at her bedroom window, gazing down at the moonlit gardens terraced into the back hillside. Even after meditating, she was still too shaken by the day's events to sleep. First there had been the shock of finding her father in a very compromising situation with an attractive young woman, and on its heels the equally shocking realization that he was being held at gunpoint. Dealing with the police had not been pleasant, either, but Spock made it clear that T'Beth had only used the dagger in defense. Fortunately, T'Naisa Brandt's life was not in danger.

After Simon went to bed, Spock had revealed former cadet's part in all the suspicious happenings since T'Beth's return. Both he and Lauren welcomed T'Beth back home, but even as they spoke, T'Beth doubted if they had uprooted all their suspicions. Father, especially, was not convinced of her miraculous healing, and her expert use of the dagger had reinforced his old image of her as a knife-toting juvenile delinquent.

It was past eleven when she saw a shadow moving in the garden. After putting on a sweater she climbed out the window, scooted down the porch roof, and alit near the bench where her father was sitting. The bright moonlight revealed a narrowing of his dark eyes, as if he did not entirely approve of such childish behavior.

T'Beth sat in the grass at his feet and gazed up at him. "Father, there are still things between us that need to be said."

Turning his head aside, he gazed off into the night.

"I saw the look on your face when you realized that I'd stabbed that girl."

"Your reflexes are most impressive," he blandly remarked.

T'Beth sighed. "Do you think I enjoyed that? I only did it to defend our lives. You told the police that, yourself." Gazing down at her hands, she quietly confessed, "I admit, I do know something about vengeance…and power…and perversion. I've been on the receiving end and I've also doled it out. There was a time when I was almost as mixed up at T'Naisa. I used people. I hurt them. I did things that were terribly wrong." She glanced up and Spock looked straight into her eyes. "But Father, I've changed. I've been changed…and I want you to see that for yourself."

His eyes slowly lit with comprehension. "No," he said with finality.

T'Beth's heart went heavy. "It's not incest."

"There are reasons…" he began predictably.

"Good reasons," she finished for him. "Yes, I know, but I'm not a little girl anymore. We can talk about it. Vulcans use their minds during sex. That's why the melding restrictions were put up against fathers and daughters, mothers and sons." With a pang she added, "And I know it also bothers you that I'm part Sy."

He did not deny it.

"Father, there was a time when I ran and hid in the darkness, but not anymore. I want to be completely honest. I want your trust. I want you to believe in me."

His eyes studied her.

"Please," she said. "Don't you want to know who I am?"

His reply came thick and low. "I have always wanted that—long, long before your grandmother brought you to me."

Rising onto her knees, she took hold of his hand. His skin felt warm and dry and pleasant. Begging him with her eyes, she positioned his fingertips near the scar at her temple.

 _"Please,_ " she repeated with all her heart, fully expecting him to pull away. But he did not.

A long moment passed. He swallowed. His lips parted. His fingers shifted on her face.

From somewhere inside him she sensed a gathering of resolve. His eyes took on a distant look, but even as the thought registered, she felt herself drawn inward to meet the first cautious touch of his mind.

A gasp escaped her. _So this is what a meld was like!_

The hesitant mind-touch lingered pleasantly and deepened, bringing with it a vivid revelation that sent tears coursing down her cheeks. Her thoughts rushed to welcome his love and embrace him. Courageously she opened herself, showing him everything that she had been—the good and the bad—and everything that she longed to become. She felt him gazing upon the river of her memories, looking with regret at the hurts he had inflicted over the years, noting her own sorrow over the ways she had wounded him. He walked with her as she left home at eighteen, angry and alienated. He shared her pride as she graduated from basic training and went on to become a pilot. He sat in the pilot's seat of her fighter as it crashed into the sands of Donari. Then, her return to consciousness—the agony and horror of her shattered legs, and her fear of the reptilians. Last of all, he stood in the waters of the grotto as the miracle of healing overtook her body and her spirit, and shared in her astonishment. And though he could not share her faith in God, it was clear that he now had faith in her.

Gathering the warmth of his acceptance around her like a comforting blanket, T'Beth rested as peaceful and content as a small child.

Slowly, very slowly, he drifted away from her. Only when the separation was complete did she realize how much of himself he had shared with her. No one but God had ever given her such a precious gift. Wiping away her tears, she stood and looked down at her father through new eyes.

"Thank you," she told him, although it was not enough.

He asked, "May I share this with Lauren?"

Somehow, T'Beth had not thought of that repercussion. If she refused, he would need to wall off a part of his mind from his bondmate. No. She would not ask that of him.

For the first time in her life she said, "Yes, Father. I trust you. I trust you both."


End file.
